


Horus Eyes

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Betrayal, Cashiered, Family, Gen, Lying To Superior Officer, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Missing Scene from MEMORY</p><p> When Miles is fired from ImpSec he calls on his last emergency defense, Imperial favor:<br/>“Have you discussed this with Gregor?”<br/>“Yes. At great length. I was closeted with him all this morning over nothing else.”<br/>Oh, to be a fly on that wall:</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horus Eyes

The office was warm against the autumn chill. A fire burned in a grate, popping occasionally. Paintings by superb living artists hung on the walls. Small sculptures in multi-colored glass, polished wood, and sharp-swirled metal were pleasingly arranged in alcoves and display niches.

The two men sat in the most ergonomic chairs available on Barrayar.

None of that mattered or increased their comfort.

“You're completely sure of this?”

“Yes, sire. The medical records show that he's had seizures since his revival from cryo-freeze, and he's concealed them.”

“He knew of this serious problem? He'd seen a doctor for it?” 

“Yes, sire. A Dendarii fleet doctor.”

“I still can't believe it. After all this years—I thought I knew Miles.”

“And I as well...he used to call me Uncle Simon.”

“And he inveigled me in many of his schemes. He's a rackety one, brilliant, hyperactive, loyal—I would have said loyal in every way.”

Pause.

“So Miles has seizures, doesn't tell anyone, goes on a mission—as mission leader— has a seizure and his plasma arc locked on? And then it struck the courier?”

“Yes, sire. Lieutenant Vorberg. Sliced both legs off just under the knee.”

“He will survive?” 

“Yes, but with permanent damage in his legs. They got them reattached on board his ship, but it's nothing as good as what he could have had at ImpMed. There is nerve and tissue loss which may repair itself in time, but he will be two centimeters shorter and experience much pain through his rehabilitation.”

“Damn the man! Goddam him! He injured someone badly, almost killed him, betrayed US—and all for—what? Keeping his rank with the Dendariis, their Admiral—that meant more than anything else to him. He just didn't...care for anyone but himself. I understand that he even kept it secret from his lover—Commander Quinn?”

“Captain. Although I think she will be the next Admiral.”

“Selfish, dishonest, dishonorable. He's lost all honor with US.”

Gregor paused again, reaching for the coffee sitting ignored on his desk. He grimaced. Since there was no one else to get the coffee, Simon went to the sideboard and poured out a fresh cup. He automatically added the two creams, no sugar, and shook a drop of vanilla from the delicate flask which held it, and then took a black one for himself. 

“It's—almost treason, you know. WE could chose to see it that way.”  
Gregor swiveled in his chair, looking out the windows. A breeze had picked up, and branches were swaying. The red and gold leaves waved below him. Some skittered along the street. He seemed blind to all this beauty, taking a small sip of his coffee and then replacing it on the desk.

“Yes, sire. I think it skates very close. If we had any other fleet Admiral who did this, he'd be court-martialed. I hate to think—I hate to think what Aral will do when he finds out. It will break his heart.”

“I agree. But possibly—probably—not Cordelia's. You know what she thinks of the situation. She's thought he was close to fracturing his personality for a long time. He doesn't want to be Lord Vorkosigan, and now he's going to lose what he valued most. Why? WHY?”

Silence. No reply.

“I've—envied him, you know. He got to go into space and fight battles, take real risks—such an ALIVE life. I've never been anywhere except that one battle in the Hegen Hub. I'm a much better administrator than he is—than almost anyone is—I do a good job. But, even with all his medical problems, the—disrespect he's shown here—everything on Barrayar—he's still—I still envy him at times.”

Simon took a sip of his own coffee before speaking.

“You know, he scams and schemes and bamboozles and outfoxes everyone in his assignments. He's given me more cause for alarm than anyone else, and has laid such achievements before me that no one else ever could. Do you remember Dr. Canaba—that simple pickup job?”

Pause. A little laugh.

“Yes. He was supposed to get the doctor out and bring home all the research records, and then he comes back with a—you can't say she's a monster, although Canaba thought she was and wanted Miles to kill her. Then the two of them wreck Ryoval's labs.”

“He and Sergeant Taura, yes, sire. He also leaves half the materiel he was supposed to bring back—left it on the loading dock. I had to be even more creative to get THAT mess through the budget.”

“Then there was Marilac.”

They both pulled a grimace at that.

“One man. I sent him to pick up one man, who had died before he got there. Any other agent would have signaled to get picked up, and left the other prisoners there for someone else to save them.”

“Or at least another agent might have gotten picked up and then made a plan from a safe distance, inside his flagship.” Gregor laughed a little. “He brought back ten thousand prisoners, bare-ass naked with no weapons.”

“Which I did not want! It interfered with mission plans for Marilac!”

Longer pause.

“He's—my brother. In everything except birth. When he and Cordelia and Aral were living here—those were some of the best days—really all of the best days—of my life. Miles was always scheming, and talking Ivan into his schemes, and if we were up at the lake, Elena too—he was always into something. He wouldn't involve me directly, initially, but somehow I got swept up into whatever mad idea he had. I kept telling myself it was because I wanted to watch over them, wanted to be sure the little ones didn't get into any real trouble, but honestly—I think it was because I didn't have to be in charge. I just came along for the fun. He was never disrespectful—except whenever he and Ivan tried to drown me in the lake—you can't call that disrespect, an emperor who can't deal with two little kids is no emperor, and besides, you—Impsec—were the lifeguards. He always had the most clever plans.”

“Yes. This, though—it's not an amusing plan. It was a knowing betrayal, proved on Lieutenant Vorberg's body. I've got him coming in this afternoon and he'll have one more chance—his last chance—to recant. I don't want to drag this into a court-martial. I'm going to offer him a medical discharge without prejudice.”

“It—can't be any less.”

“No, sire. And he will have to give me back his eyes.”

“His Horus eyes? You have to take them?”

“Yes. He will no longer belong to ImpSec. I must take them.”

Sound of smashing glass.

“Sire!”

“It's okay, I never liked that statue anyway. Damn him. I haven't given way to my temper in, oh, ten or fifteen years. Do what you must.”

“Thank you, sire. I'll send you a flimsy of the visit.”

“No, that won't be necessary. Goodbye.”

Sound of door closing.

Gregor put his elbows on the desk, clenched his fists together, and pressed his forehead into them. There was a single, strangled sound. Then he rose and went to the window, looking blankly into the bright autumn day.


End file.
